


Monster by circumstance, demon by nature

by Papaknucklepuck



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papaknucklepuck/pseuds/Papaknucklepuck
Summary: The tale of the last few days of a radio host spiraling quickly down into the rabbit hole of madness, leaving the wall of sanity he had behind into becoming what he was destined to be.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	1. Revelation of his nature.

**Author's Note:**

> The graphic tags involving violence and death will primarily take place in later chapters of the story, but still have a minor part in chapter 1, you've been forewarned. 
> 
> This is unrelated to my current and future works of Hazbin content and is non-cannon in the Hazbin universe.
> 
> Changed original title from "Death of a man, birth of a demon"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor change to the story changing the use of boy into 'young man' and 'gambler' respectively as to not associate it to the death of minors.

The sound of the swamp was unnerving to any outsider. Even some of the folks that live within it at times found fright hidden behind the sounds. But tonight held a different kind of tension and unsettling ire. It was as if the swamp watched every living being which entered into its domain. 

A special set of eyes had their attention focused however, onto a victim which already met their unsuspecting end. The pit was maybe a foot down into the mud, just a little deeper than was needed. The body lying within it, of which an arm and its head were missing, had gained the attention of the swamps insect fauna. 

Standing over the corpse was a tall, thin man dressed in a white under shirt and dark pants. Mud and blood covered his arms and a majority of his torso. Dried blood stained his hair a shade of crimson as branches from trees made out what looked like small antlers sprouting from his skull. The eyes which remained unmoved from the corpse were a similar shade of bloody red. His fingernails still dripped red with bodily fluids.

Hunched over slightly, the man proceeded to cover the body. Slowly, monotonously did he tire through the rain and mud to hide his quarry. They would never find it out here. Not till the day he died. He turned slowly to sulk his way the few mile trek back into the city. 

The snap of a twig caused the head of this almost primordial looking figure to turn his attention to the side. Standing there was a young man, no older than 20, with a small pellet gun in one hand with a lantern in the other. The man called out to the figure, but no verbal answer was given. Instead he was given a flash of lightning. Brightly it lit up the sky, illuminating the monstrous visage and face of the hunch backed figure.

One more body couldn't hurt.

~ ~ ~

The soft cracking and popping of his joints as he sat up in bed were only a mild inconvenience when compared to the light filtering through his blinds. His eyes blinked slowly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Dried mud sat between his toes and part way up his legs. A hand reached up to scratch his head. A caked mixture dried still remained on the ends of his fingers as red flakes drifted down from his scalp. 

In the corner of the room, thrown haphazardly onto the floor, sat a pile of clothes. Mud, blood, and various other stains covered every inch of fabric. The man let out a sigh as he got to his feet and walked over to the pile. His bed sheets were stained in a similar manner, of which he rounded up as well and brought with him. Almost hobbling in his walk, he made his way through his spacious home. It had very few decorations strewn about, all except the large trophy wall over his fireplace; and the gun which was adorned alongside the various skulls.

Stepping down onto the first stair which led to the homes basement, a supernatural cold blew past his figure as the lights flicked on without his doing. The shadow which accompanied the man danced and crawled along the wall in matching strides before it peeled itself free from the stone bindings. A dark silhouette now walked alongside the man as he began his preparations to clean the filth from his attire. The shadow man helped in the process, handing cleaning fluids and other supplies. The living man worked like a machine, unthinking nor blinking as the gunk was removed from the clothes. 

With his work done he picked up the clothes and moved them over for them to dry. Before leaving the basement he pushed aside a group of loose bricks to a hidden ice box in the wall. Sticking one arm into the cool air he brought it back out with a dismembered limb. He looked over what looked like the leg of a buck, the shadow creature at his side looking at the flesh with an unholy hunger. He stowed it away with a sigh and hid the box of limbs and body parts once more behind the bricks. Didn't want his 'venison' going to waste. 

What was the number sitting at now? A dozen? Two dozen? So many 'hunting trips' in these last few years; and bits of all those 'deer' have ended up in this ice box. He couldn't help but smile and laugh as he sauntered his way back up the stairs. Once his feet stepped past the door to the basement the lights shut off and his shadow returned to normal. 

Returning to his place of rest he stopped and stood before the mirror which he used to make himself presentable. He was a thin man, far thinner than a man like him should be. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot, yet were wide open with a matching smile to accompany their red gaze. He wasn't much the smoker, but his teeth had seemed to turn more and more yellow. On how he missed the days of having a perfect clean smile. 

Despite his saddened sigh, his smile remained. He sifted through his drawers and cabinets to find a clean set of clothes for the day. Stepping out into the light of the early morning sun he smiled and waved to all the passersby as he made his way down the street. Living on the outside of town, he had a small walk to make before reaching his destination.

As he walked down the street, the soft humming of his voice accompanied him. He worked as a radio host, sending out music to all the saddened souls of the New Orleans area since the stock market crashed. Little did the people know that he found a great joy in the chaos that followed in the wake of the market crash. So many souls left to rot on the streets; he hadn't smiled as hard since. The agony wrought onto the other people of the world brought him so much entertainment. 

Yet, part of his enjoyment felt off. Wrong even. For a few weeks, the man had been making his way to a friends in the hopes of obtaining aid. However, none of the help he was given felt right. It made sense to him though, all he ever did was talk about how he'd been handling himself. The only reason he kept going back is anyone else would have sent him away for being mad. 

He sighed and looked forward with tired eyes. His smile sharp and slim as he walked in relative silence the next half a dozen blocks. Three knocks to the door and a minute later the door opened to a heavy set man on the other side. The two men gave a small friendly smile as they both made their way into the main living space. A bottle of cheap brandy and a pair of drinking glasses placed onto a nearby table. 

“You know I don’t drink Francis.” The taller man said as he put away his coat. 

Francis let out a low bellow of a laugh and slapped his friend on the back in a gesture of kindness. “I figured it could be a gesture of kindness old friend. You’ve trusted me to help you in these hard times. But now I have to ask as to who I am speaking with today. Al or Alastor?”

There was a moment of silence, almost reaching a point of tension and awkwardness before he spoke out. “Al. It’s Al. I thought you used to be able to tell us apart?” Al chuckled and moved alongside his friend to the chairs set across from each other next to the table of brandy.

Another bellowing laugh left the large gut of Francis as he sat down across from his friend. “Well for a while I did. But one day the both of you started showing up with that ear to ear smile. Truth be told I thought you forgot how to smile since your mother passed. But, one day I see you looking happier than ever as you walked down the street. Pardon me for asking, but how have you managed the way you have?” 

Al looked off into space for a moment. Blankly and expressionlessly he sat there as dozens of flashing memories flooded his mind. His mother's death, her funeral within the following days, the closed casket they were forced to hose due to the wounds she’d suffered. A pack of rabid dogs attacked her; and tore her to pieces. Al was barley 20 when it happened; and suddenly he was living alone as the foundations of his world cracked beneath him. 

“I made sure to keep my eyes focused on what I loved. Entertainment. Being able to share that to the people of the world brought me joy. Hunting when I had the time has also brought some levity to all that’s happened these past few years.” He replied calmly and without hesitation once his words began. Of course that wasn’t all that he did to bring himself satisfaction. 

The owner of a pair of the dogs that killed his mother was charged very lightly. He claimed his dogs had vanished a few days before; and that he had no clue they went rabid. Al didn’t believe it, nor did he care. The owner went missing within the month, with their body being found rotting with multiple stab wounds in one of the outlets leading to the sea. When authorities investigated the owners home, they found clear signs that the killing happened there; but no one saw who commited the crime. Similar events have happened since, bodies winding up in places you wouldn't expect; but after a while limbs began to go missing as strange symbols were carved into the skin.

Unaware of his friends thoughts, Francis gave a small nod and smile to Al as he poured himself a glass of brandy. Compared to what it had been more than a decade ago the brandy cost him an arm and a leg, but with prohibition in place what he paid was a steal. Even if it was cheap booze. He toasted to Al, who responded in kind but with an empty glass, before he started to drink. "You know the gambler that went missing 2 weeks back? Well they found him in the port with a brick tied to his heels. Poor chap, both arms missing with more of those black magic voodoo nonsense carved into his back." 

Al gave a slow nod of recognition as his friend scoffed and continued talking. As well as the missing people and murders, there were supposed sightings of a strange deer like figure roaming the swamps. Apparently the folk that lived there had seen it skulking through the mud, not a beast in sight dated step near. Even the alligators were said to avoid the place where the figure was spotted for a day or two. Francis blew it off as nonsense and ghost stories. But the beast gained a few names, the bayou boogeyman, the swamp beast, and the New Orleans wendigo. 

Al was about to speak, requesting that he be allowed to leave and go home. He'd make sure to say that he enjoyed their short talk; but a cold dark hand placed itself on his shoulder and the words caught in his throat. He turned his head to the side to spot a shadow, not his own, standing above him, piercing into him with an empty gaze. Quickly turning his own gaze back to Francis revealed his friend to be completely unaware, despite looking right at him. 

It's in his head. These visions of this shadow creature were fake. It was all a bad dream. But the cold sweat that was running down his face, the tightness in his throat, and the undeniable fact that what felt to be a real hand on his shoulder, said otherwise. 

Panic was rising within him, his breathing had stopped what felt like an eternity ago and his face was red with lack of oxygen. He felt hot and hold at the same time; and his eyes darted about the room as if the world was shifted and moving around him. It took him a moment to realize that his friend was no longer moving; and not a second longer to see why. His body looked bloody, the clothes on his back ripped open with chest laid bare; and various symbols carved into his skin around a single large pentagram on his chest. The panic in Al's eyes could only grow. 

Muffled footsteps echoed distantly in the air as the figure holding onto Al’s shoulder moved around to his front. The moment the hand released itself from his shoulder he tried to run, but couldn’t move. He was trapped in his own body. Rounding the chair, stood a tall figure dressed in a red and black suit. Its hair the color of blood with large tufts above both temples, and small antlers growing from the center of the skull. The eyes were a deeper shade of crimson with pinpoint dots for pupils which stretched into that of a serpents; and its ear to ear grin was laiden with sharp dagger like yellow teeth. The thing that scared him the most however, was that this creature shared the same face as him. 

The creature who shared the face of Al outstretched its hand as if waiting for it to be taken. Looking down to his arm he raised it without resistance, but when trying to move anything else he found the same frozen joints as before. A strange mixture of anger, fear, and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he yanked at his own frozen joints to no avail. Tears welled up in his eyes as a fearful smile met spread over his face. 

"None! Of this is real. Your nothing but a bad dream. A fake! I'm not crazy, you're not real!" A manic laugh left him as he continued to pull on his invisible restraints. He growled and snarled, pulled and tugged, smiled and cried; yet, none of it lessened his binds. 

The finely dressed figure remained there. A statue, with an outstretched palm, waiting for Al to shake its hand. The subtlest of movements was all it gave, a small shift of its eyes down to the open hand. A gesture to accept it. Al sniffled and whined as he foamed at the mouth, attempting to lunge at the figure with no form of success. 

You are a killer~ You are a monster, and a cannibal~ 

The words whispered in the air like the hum of a radio, and to the tune of a song Al was all too familiar with. It was calming, and saddening all at the same time. It was a song that came upon the radio often; and a tune he remembered humming as he carved up bodies in the middle of the night. 

I know all these things because I am you~ What I am, you will be~ A demon~ 

The muscles that had tensed first in fear and then into anger now relaxed. Shivers ran down his spine; and a wave of memories play out before him like a silent film. The smile that had risen out of panic had fallen; and was now replaced with blissful glee. Yes, this was him. These were all his doings. All the murders were him.

You cannot deny it~ you cannot betray your new nature~ take grasp of your own hand and accept your fate~ 

Al looked upward at the future version of himself. The antler headed demon, dressed in red with teeth like knives. He chuckled softly, scoffed at his own hesitation, and reached out his hand to his mirrored self. As the hands reached closer a green flash of arcane sprouted from both. The force of the arcane energy pushed away the glasses and tipped furniture as the pair of hands clasped into each other. 

In an instant the force of the arcane magics ceased and the room grew silent. Al looked up at his mirror self, whose smile now perfectly matched his own. The pair of hands held strong before the flesh of the demon melded into the flesh of the man. The rest of the demon in red followed close behind, until all that remained… 

Was Alastor.


	2. Accepting his nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of his revelation, Alastor quickly comes to accept his nature; and decides to celebrate by having his friend for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are instances of gore and torture. 
> 
> Due to its length there will be a chapter 3.

Clearity had taken over him. He no longer felt tired, no longer sad or depressed, the weight of his limbs no longer felt as if they dragged him down. It was all clear now, like a blue summers day with naught but a cloud in the sky. He took in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled calmly as he relaxed into the chair in which he still sat. He really had been trapped within his own body, cealed away by a fake guise of sanity which only grew weaker and weaker the longer he went on. 

He sat with his eyes closed for a minute or two as he calmed himself. Mostly unaware of the area surrounding him he felt the small shift of air near him as a hand placed itself on his shoulder. He hated being touched, truly despised it, yet he never mentioned it much. Whoever had decided to try out their luck was going to regret it. Alastor’s hands lunged toward the unwanted guest, one hand dug into their wrist as his other wrapped tightly around their throat

"A-al! It's me! Francis!" The choked words of the large man were frightened at his friends sudden outburst. Alastor released the man at the sound of his voice, his gaze looking about the room. It was the same as it had been before his shadow, his own being, had clasped its hand onto his shoulder. It happened in his mind, entirely in an instant. He chuckled with a sly smile. 

“Terribly sorry about that old chap. Must’ve fallen asleep there for a moment. Sorry about the outburst, I was startled is all.” He gave a two bit grin that looked just genuine enough to convince his friend. Francis let out a few rough coughs as his friend spoke. Catching his breath, Francis stood back to his full height and waved his hand in forgiveness as he steadied himself. 

“No, no. Don’t apologize, it was my fault for going right up and messing with you. Shoulda woke you up like my wife wakes me up.” The large man let out a few breathy chuckles before acting out throwing his shoe at Alastor. “Every morning on the spot, Francis! Then there's a shoe in my face.” He sniffed and righted himself again as he cleared his throat. 

“Anyway, would you like to get back to business. Or are you in need of some proper rest, not often someone just falls asleep in their chair.” 

Alastor thought it over for a moment between the two options before a third came to mind. “I’ve a third idea. I know you’re the forgiving type but I must make amends for my disrespectful act of violence. So I propose an invitation to dinner at my place, tomorrow night. I’ll make some of my mothers jambalaya, the recipe is to die for. Might even say it’s right out of hell!” He laughed a joyous laugh and stuck out his hand to Francis.

Right before Francis shook hands with Alastor he pulled back to speak again. “On one conditon though. I'm certain your wife wouldn’t much enjoy being dragged along to our get together so let's keep it between ourselves. Waddya say?” His hand held still as his smile sat wide across his lips. The look which spread over Francis face was one of contemplation. The gentle smile on his face quickly spread to a large grin and he took Alastors hand into his own with a firm shake.

“I’ll make sure to tell the misses its a business meeting. Does around 7 work?” he asked already writing out a note. 

Alastor gave a nod and reinforced the shake before letting go. He looked down at his watch, surprised to see just exactly how much time had passed. Maybe his walks took longer than he thought. He dismissed the thought and saw himself out of the home after putting his coat back on. “This will be very entertaining” he said with a low chuckle. 

Swiftly and deftly he strode down the street back to his home. Everything felt so much brighter and clearer now. As if a switch had been flipped in his mind and at last everything made sense. The people he walked past on the street looked up at him with a strange curiosity, as the smile adorning his lips seemed as if it had been like that since his birth. He loved to smile, he felt incomplete without one. He wasn’t fully dressed without it. 

The only twitch, or fault in his smile was at the sight of a hound across the street from him. His eyes caught sight of it almost instantly; and his body then stopped as he gave a dark stare to the canine. He recognized the breed, one of which was in the pack responsible for his mother's death. He had a distaste for dogs since that day but in this moment that dislike was boiling into anger. Clenching his hand tightly into his fist he turned away and continued his walk, only after envisioning what he would do to the hound if ever he got his hands onto it. 

His stride slowed greatly once his destination was but a few houses down the street. The sounds of his steps eerily similar to that of hooves clopping against the stone; a steady pace like the sound of a clock ticking down to strike a new hour. Strangely he stopped just before unlocking his door, as if a presence he had not noticed before was making itself known. Hesitantly he pushed open his door, just a crack, to look inside. What he was met with almost brought a tear of joy to his eye.

~ ~ ~

Through the rest of the day and into the evening he touched up his place of residence for his guest. Polishing silverware and dishes, pulling out the necessary ingredients for making his mothers jambalaya and setting up a spot just for Francis. It was an hour before the time they set would arrive, Alastor assumed his companion would arrive sooner for the sake of kindness. Digging through his wardrobe he at last found the suit for the occasion. A set which matched the look of his other half; and to go with it, a cane with a carved bucks head. 

He grabbed one extra item on his way to the door and awaited his friend to arrive. 15 minutes before the clock struck 30 past seven did the sound of knocking come to his door. With a closed grin, Alastor swung the door open and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “Ah Francis my deer! You're rather early aren't you?” With how quickly the door opened in Francis face and the swiftness of Alastors words he was taken aback for a moment before regaining his composure.

“With how quickly you answered the door, I assume you were waiting for me? I should have arrived even soon then.” Francis chuckled in leaned in to pat his friend on the shoulder. However, his hand was met with the sensation of a single finger pushing it away. He sniffed a bit but shrugged it off, seemed his friend wanted to keep his suit clean. “I suppose we should head on in then. Really I can’t thank you enough for your generosity; and I still feel bad for putting you into this situation.”

With a wave of his hand, Alastor pushed aside the topic at hand and stepped to the side to allow his guest entrance. Taking the kind gesture, Francis stepped forward and stepped into the home. He was talking, and had his attention focused onto Alastor. Sadly, the words fell on to deaf ears as Alastor walked in after and locked the door shut. His lips opening in a toothy grin as his tongue ran across the tips of his newly filed teeth. 

It was the sound of a wet squelch that pulled Francis out of his communicative transe. His form went from warm and jolly with a smile to match. Into a frozen look of incomprehensible terror. Blood coated almost every surface in the room, both old and new. What did not have blood spattered across it sat animal skulls, dolls with buttons for eyes, or pieces of viscera from any number of creatures. Alastors hand wrapped around the shoulder of his friend and pushed him forward. 

Francis desperately tried to speak, but the horror trapped the words in his throat. He was put into a spotless chair, looking out upon a table prepared to perfection with not a splotch or stain upon it; and covered with dishes which could take someone's breath away. Francis almost worked up the will to speak when he noticed the trophy wall sitting above the fireplace. Mixed among the skulls of various antlered creatures were the polished remains of human skulls mixed in. He couldn’t move his gaze from an empty spot above the mantle with a headboard and name plate left blank. 

“Do you like what I’ve done with the place. I feel it brings the whole room together, proper decor is everything these days! Now then, let's move past the pleasantries and dig in. I’ve been starving myself all day to enjoy our meal together. I can’t thank you enough for letting me have you for dinner.” Moving to the other side of the table he turned on the radio and sat down. 

With a gleeful cheer, Alastor began preparing his dinner. However when he noticed his friends lack of movement he walked over and placed down what he had gotten. "What's wrong my deer. Not hungry? I'm hurt! Do you know how hard it is to make your mother's jambalaya when you barely even remember having her around. C'mon Francis. Eat!" 

Alastor slammed his hand down onto the table. Francis practically jumped out of his skin as he mumbled incoherently up at this strange misshapen fragment that was once his friend. With a shaky hand he reached for his silverware and grabbed the ready bowl of jambalaya. Putting in his utensil, he then brought it back out to be be met with the horror of a finger. His hand shook like he had tremors only for the spoon within it to fall to the table. 

"Wh-why would you do this Al? What happened to you?" Francis cried out at last as he cradled his head as it lay on the table. His whimpers like music to Alalstors ears. 

"Why does anyone do anything my dear. Why do people go out and perform such evil acts of the soul. Desire? Curiosity? Or maybe it's a simple matter of sheer, absolute, boredom! Oh I've been so drained, so tired for years. All because I hid my true nature; but this. This, is my true nature." He said swinging out his arms to express to the whole room.

“And now you’ll get a taste of the passions I embrace as part of my nature~” in a swift motion, Alastor threw Francis onto the ground with incredible strength and speed. The table almost toppled to the floor as Francis was pinned to the floor before having a bloody rag stuffed into his mouth. There wasn't much of a struggle, the force of hitting the floor knocking the wind from his lungs; and the taste of the rag making him want to vomit. Regardless he still cried and attempted to escape with what little resolve he had. 

"I expected more from you Francis. A drinking man like yourself has no doubt gotten into a brawl during your secret outings. I wanted this to be fun for the both of us, but really you're just being disappointing!" He said his last word with force as he drove a kitchen knife deep into Francis's shoulder. 

Cries of muffled anguish filled the room as Francis flailed an arm in an attempt to break free. The blistering pain running through the other arm sending it into pain induced numbness. The blade was twisted to ensure the wound would not close. Alastor pushed the grip of the blade away from himself before ripping the whole blade towards the chest in which he sat himself upon. 

The sickening mixture of laughter and the sound of ripping flesh and sinew was nothing compared to the pain the interaction caused. Had the blade not caught itself onto bone, Alastor would have made sure to pull it all the way through. Pulling the blade free, Alastor brought it up to his drooling maw and hungrily licked the blade clean. 

Drawing his gaze to the body beneath him confirmed that Francis had blacked out from pain. Spiteful at his friends lack of will, Alastor smiled onward and rose to his feet. Reaching over to the table, the finger was plucked from its place of rest and gingerly placed in between Alastors jaws before he snapped them shut; cutting the finger in two before swallowing the bite sized treat. 

Brandishing the knife firmly in one hand, the other wrapped around the leg of the unconscious form attached to it. Leisurely, the body was pulled from the main foyer and towards the stairs which lead down to the basement. At the edge of the first step, Alastor pushed the body over and watched as it tumbled down into the dark stone walled cavern below. Gracefully did he follow down, alighting the room with a small tug against a string. 

Like a predator stalks its wounded prey, Alastor took small unlabored steps around the body. He watched as the breaths frantically caused the chest to rise and fall in random bouts. Halting over the right side, Alastor lowered himself to the ground and ripped open the shirt in which the body wore. With a firm grip upon the blade, he pressed it in deep enough to draw blood and started his next piece of work. 

Tediously he carved into the bare chest an unholy symbol. 5 different points, all in a single carved line surrounded by a circle. He remembered carving the same symbol into the floorboards beneath his bed; and the special visit he was given because of it. He was familiar with both the unholy and practice of the dark arts. 

After his first carving he went to carve more. Smaller sigils were cut into the body as incantations were hummed into the air. The air cooled as the minutes passed. The more he carved the less and less the body rose and fell with its breaths. Finally, on the precipice of the final sigil the body ceased to move; and the air warmed once more. 

"Now it's time to put you to use my little deer. How I wonder what games we can play. Or maybe, just maybe, you’d be willing to help sate my hunger." Desire drooled from his words much like saliva drooled from his maw. Pulling the torso off the ground he ran his tongue over the bare skin. 

The taste of fear and terror were still heavy on the flesh. His grip tightened around his holds as he sank his teeth deep into the the bodies throat. The sweet crimson icor of blood flowed over his teeth and from the wound. Even with the blood that had already left the body, what trickled across his teeth and tongue was euphoric almost. 

He lapped at the blood for a moment before pulling his jaws free from his latest prey. There was still plenty of food upstairs. But he would have to take off of this body what he could, having used a bit of his stock in making the jambalaya upstairs. That meal would have to suffice for now.


End file.
